Dear Diary
by stargirl1992
Summary: Blair decides to go back to her diary-writing ways and touches on the events that happened in 5x24. The first couple chapters are very Chair-centric, but I expect that things will get a lot more Dairing in future instalments.Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated :
1. Chapter 1

May 21, 2012

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry that I haven't written to you in awhile, but things have been especially hectic around here ever since Serena leaked you to Gossip Girl, last week. I know I shouldn't be doing this—clearly, even my most private, intimate thoughts aren't safe from the threat of mass-exposure—but I really needed to vent to someone (or something) other than Dorota. She's been pretty disgruntled and annoyed with me, lately; she even refused to accompany me to feed the ducks the other day, claiming that she had a throat infection and insisting on staying clear of the park out of fear of contaminating the "innocent birds" and their natural habitat. She didn't even try to mask the sarcasm in her voice as she had made that ridiculous excuse, and just kept on folding the linens as if nothing had happened. I should have fired her for her insubordination but, of course, I wasn't going to do that. I had already alienated enough people for the week: restaurant owners, museum curators, minions, lovers, friends...the last thing I wanted to do was to climb that ladder any further.

Plus, it's not like I didn't know why she was acting so frigid towards me; she made it pretty clear that she didn't approve of the way I left things with Dan and was even more disappointed at my insistence of giving him his space. She calls it "cowardice"; I call it "being considerate". Plus, it's not like I`ve shut him out completely. I told her the facts—that since the morning after the Shepherd's divorce party, I have written him about twenty emails a day and how, in that period of time, he has yet to answer one. Clearly, he doesn't want to talk to me. Of course, I can't blame him; I wouldn't want to talk to me, either...

I really did want to meet him at the Shepherd's divorce party—really, I did. But when the time came to make the decision, I realized that I couldn`t go through with it (at least, not right away). It`s not that I didn`t care about him—I did and I still do. He was so good to me; he made me feel strong, happy and safe, and never shied away from reminding me that we were a team. He wasn`t just my boyfriend; he was also my best friend. Being with him was great...but it was never going to last. There`s no way that it could have—not when Chuck was still there, waiting in the wings and haunting the corners of my mind. Chuck will always be a part of me. No matter how hard I try to run away, he always manages to pull me in; and the fact that I even felt the need to make a choice that night proved that I was still not over him. It wouldn`t have been fair to Dan or to myself if I didn`t end things—and I _was_ going to end things with Dan; I had planned to meet him at the party to break up with him, face-to-face. But I had to see Chuck, first. Was I procrastinating? Perhaps...but that's beside the point. I _was_ going to see Dan— until I got to the Empire.

I arrived at the Bass Industries press conference just in time to watch Chuck get booted from the company; his father, the man who Chuck had went to such great lengths to resurrect from purgatory, had stood there at the microphone, coolly telling the press that, from now on, he would be the only Bass working at Bass Industries. I could not believe it. First of all, what kind of bonehead PR move was that? And more importantly, why would Bart do that to Chuck after everything that he, his son, has done for him?

I didn't have to wait long to get an answer...

After the press conference had ended, I followed Chuck to the hotel roof, hoping to comfort him in his time of need. When I reached him, I immediately took the opportunity to deliver him my life-altering message: I told him that I was in love with him and that he was the one that I wanted to be with. His reaction completely took me off-guard; he blamed me for getting him kicked out of his company, saying that he always put me first and that I had bet against him every time. I told him that we could build our futures together—that my mother had just made me the new head of Waldorf Designs (surprise! lol) and that I could help support him while he tried to get back on his feet. He told me that I was not enough for him and that he didn't want to be "Mr. Blair Waldorf"; and then he walked away, leaving me feeling like a starved, abandoned mongrel that had just been kicked to the side of the road.

I was devastated and humiliated. I was rejected and offended... and yet, deep down, all I really felt was pity.

I tried to tell myself that Chuck's tyrannical tangent was just him letting off some steam but I knew that it was more than that. He truly believed that I had cost him everything that he built, so much so that I began to wonder whether he was right. He said that he had always put me first and that I had bet against him every time. I could think of plenty of instances that would contradict that first part—he _did_ trade me for a hotel, after all—but I couldn't help but see some truth in the latter half of that statement. I did bet against him—many times, in fact; this past year, all I did was push Chuck away out of fear of being devastated by him, yet again. Even though I had seen a positive change in his character, I never really gave him a chance to prove that he was ready to be in a committed, loving and trusting relationship with me. We _were _going to run away together; if you remember, he was going to raise Louis's baby with me—but then the crash happened and, scared of the thought of losing Chuck, I retreated without even offering him a word of explanation. I strung him along for weeks before choosing to be with Dan. And yet, despite all the hell that I put him through, he still continued to fight for me. I may have been miserable on that rooftop, but not as miserable as Chuck was all year...not as miserable as he was after hearing that he lost his company because of me.

I stood on that rooftop for a couple of minutes longer than I should have. I knew that it was my cue to leave; I was supposed to meet Dan at the Shepherd's party to break up with him, but I was so emotionally drained at that moment that I honestly thought that even seeing him through the corner of my eye would have left me in ruins. I decided that getting a drink would take the edge off, so I headed down to the bar and asked the bartender to pour me a glass of vodka...and another...and another...and another after that. I think that there were some other alcoholic beverages thrown into the mix, but I believe that it was by the fourth or fifth glass of vodka that the room started to spin, and I remember hearing the nice barman tell me that he was calling a cab service to come pick me up. The rest of the night was a blur, although, I think that I may have threw up on the side walk as I was getting out of the cab. That was the perfect ending to the perfect night. I hate my life, sometimes.

And now, about a week later, I find myself packing my suitcases in preparation to jet off to Paris for the summer. Mother suggested that I go with her this year so that she could start showing me the ropes of running Waldorf Designs. I admit that I'm pretty excited and anxious at the same time, although, I think that some of that anxiety may be a result of my decision to track Chuck down and convince him that he's the only one that I can ever be with. Yesterday, he was spotted in Paris with Jack so at least I will be close to finding him when I get there. Chuck hasn't been answering my calls, lately, but maybe if I phone Jack, he'll tell me where I can find him. If he doesn't, then I will search every bar and hotel in Paris if I have to. I finally know what I want, and I'm going to get it...


	2. Chapter 2

May 24, 2012

Dear Diary,

I finally did it—I finally confronted Chuck. Sure, it may have been at a casino table with a bunch of ignorant, champagne-sipping strangers swarming the room. The dealer may have interrupted me and I may now be out two hundred grand...but it's not like I was expecting an elaborate production or anything. It's not like I was expecting confetti to fall from the sky or a string-quartet to serenade us as I pledged my eternal devotion to him. Hell, the first time I told Chuck that I loved him, we were on a random sidewalk in Manhattan and I had left the scene feeling like I wanted to die. All things relative, I'd call last night a resounding success—even without the string-quartet.

It was Jack who told me where to find him. I had just left the Paris airport when I decided to check my phone to see if anyone had called while I was on the plane. Amazingly, Jack had left a voice mail teasing me of Chuck's itinerary for that evening—that he and Chuck were going to be at a Parisian casino that night and that if I wanted to know the details then I would have to call him (Jack) back. Seriously, the man is such a child sometimes, it's ridiculous. Calling him wasn't the issue—I was already planning to do that as soon as I had gotten settled—but it was the fact that he forcing me to participate in an unwanted game of phone-tag that annoyed me to no end. Still, I needed to know more, and so once I had finished moving into my new room (in Mother's mansion), I reluctantly called him back.

Jack seemed to be a little too pleased with himself when he found out that it was my voice on the other side of the line. In typical Jack fashion, his first words were "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me" and he followed that up by asking me— in the most patronizing tone, I may add— whether I had gotten his message. I wanted nothing more than to tell him to go to hell and then dramatically hang up but, realizing that abandoning the conversation would defeat the whole purpose of the phone call, I decided to stand my ground. Instead, I told him the truth: that I called to find out about Chuck—not subject myself to the torture of having to speak to his porn-dog uncle. He laughed before informing me that he wasn't surprised that I called him, then, as self-inflicted torture seemed to be a hobby of mine. Anger mounting, I told him to cut to the chase; and I was somewhat stunned when he actually did.

The conversation went from superficial to serious in the blink of an eye. He started off by telling me the name of the casino, and continued his confession by informing me that he and Chuck were plotting to win back Bass Industries by jeopardizing their own bank accounts (aka. gambling). Apparently, Jack was also ousted from the company and has therefore joined forces with Chuck in order to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. They needed five million dollars to finance the game plan—what the plan was exactly, he refused to say. However, he did ask me if I was interested in getting in on the action, claiming that there was a good chance that Chuck would resent me less if I had agreed to make a generous donation towards their cause. He told me that he understood my situation—that Chuck had let it slip that he believed that I was to blame for him getting kicked out of the company–and that this was my golden opportunity to make things right.

I knew what he was doing; he was trying to sucker me into lending them money under the guise that this was a win-win situation for everyone. Did I believe him? I wish I could say no. I wish I could just say that he was a liar and a cheat and that he was trying too hard to work an angle. Problem was he was right; gambling my own money in order to help their cause would not only assist Chuck in his quest to reclaim Bass Industries but would also show him that I was willing to go the distance to support him—that I was finally ready to take a chance on him and on us. It wasn't just my money that I would be gambling but also my heart. The whole thing was kind of poetic if you think about it...

It took me no time at all to figure out what I needed to do. However, just because I had an answer, didn't mean that I was required to share it. If Jack wanted to run around pulling the strings, then fine—two can play at that game. That's when I told Jack "good day and good luck" and hung up the phone before he could say another word. Man that was fun; I wish I could have seen his face.

Almost immediately after hanging up the phone, I called the car service and left for the bank. I decided that two hundred grand (or about 158,856 Euros) would be a sufficient contribution to the cause and left the establishment carrying a huge black bag that was heavy with cash. Realizing that I should get rid of all this money before I get mugged by a Parisian homeless person, I instructed my driver to take me to the casino. Upon arriving, I headed straight for the cage and exchanged my large bag of cash for a couple of yellow chips. Overall, it was a very thrilling afternoon.

I spent three and a half hours primping in preparation for the big event. Hair and make-up took about standard time to accomplish but finding the appropriate outfit was a different story. I must have gone through about a dozen dresses and colour schemes before deciding to settle on orange; I remembered reading on some website ( , I think was name) that people who love orange are "cheerful, pleasant and loyal"—and though, as you well know, orange may never have been myfavourite hue on the colour wheel, I decided that it was perfect for the occasion. What better way to show Chuck that I've changed than by dressing in a meaningful colour that he knows I've long despised? Plus, it's not like the entire dress was monochromatic—it had a decent amount of gold patterning, as well— so I wasn't beingcompletely insincere. I also remembered reading that if a person is exposed to orange for too long then he or she may "become restless" and could "suffer a nervous breakdown"; again, that was a good call on the gold patterning...

Standing in the entrance of the casino, I couldn't help but feel like nervous wreck, and it was only after subjecting myself to a five minute solo pep- talk that I was able to regain my composure. I told myself the usual—that I'm Blair Waldorf and that he is Chuck Bass and that just because he may hate me at the moment, doesn't mean that he won't love me in the morning ( I know that I sound like a bad country song but you get the picture). We're Chuck and Blair—Blair and Chuck. We get traded for hotels and sleep with pigheaded uncles and yet we still forgive each other everything. All I had to do was play his game for a little while and before long, he'd be mine once again. Plus, once he sees me with a handful of casino chips ready to gamble in his honour, he'll have to take me back, right?

I was going to be fine. Everything was going to work out. Of course, that's how most people feel when they first walk into a casino before they leave with nothing but the fond memory of watching their hopes and dreams get swept away from underneath them...but that's beside the point. I knew that everything was going to go well—I was sure of it. Chuck was going to forgive me and then he was going take back Bass Industries and then we were going to spend the rest of our lives together as two powerful business moguls in love. That was the plan, damn it—end of story.

Chuck and Jack were seated at a casino table located in the centre of the room, and as I was walking towards them, I commanded myself to be the picture of poise and serenity (no pressure there). I had to appear confident; otherwise Chuck wouldn't take me seriously—and the last thing that I wanted for him to think was that I was conflicted by my decision to be with him.

When I got close enough, I asked if there was a seat available to which Jack responded by telling me that I could take his place. Jack did a good job to appear cool and unaffected by my entrance but I could tell that he was pretty relieved to see me. All I wanted to do was smirk and flash him my best sorry-if-I-tortured-you-but-that-was-my-intention face but, realizing that that kind of behaviour would clash with my current Grace Kelly act, I instead calmly (and civilly) thanked him for the call and took up his offer by taking his seat...next to Chuck.

Chuck looked absolutely shocked to see me. His glare was more intense than ever, although I took comfort in the fact that I was able to see a hint of confusion in his expression and not just outright disdain. As he looked at me with those tortured, Byronic eyes, I was struck by a familiar feeling: a great sense of desperation to help him and take of care of him, no matter what the cost. I told Chuck that I came to fight for him and assured him that, despite the fact that I had bet against him in the past, this time I am all in (metaphorically and literally speaking). His expression didn't change as I placed my chips on the table or after I had finished my heartfelt speech, but at that moment, I didn't care. Did I want him to take me back right then and there? Of course I did! But maybe I wasn't being realistic when I thought that everything would fall into place so immediately. Anyways, it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that I was here and he was here and that he knew how I felt. I trusted that that would be enough someday (hopefully in the nearby future).

At the end of the night, Chuck had won four million dollars in chips—just one million short of the targeted amount. He barely spoke one word to me the entire time, almost as if he was uncertain of what to say. He just sat there at the table, brooding and focused, and had directed every ounce of his attention on the chips, the cards and the game. I was a little disappointed by his silence but I understood—it was all still too soon.

Before parting ways, I told him that I was staying at Mother's place in Paris, and that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was call. He told me good night and cordially thanked me for coming. He assured me that he appreciated what I did for him and that it was nice seeing me. He said all of the right things and yet there was an unmistakable sadness and frustration in his demeanor that tainted his kind words. I really couldn't bare it—all the false politeness and courteousness was sickening. It wasn't us...it wasn't him or me. I was ready to call it a night and try my luck another day—until he told me that he was going to pay me back the moment he reclaimed Bass Industries, and I was struck by inspiration.

At first, I assured him that the money was a gift—a peace offering, if you will—and that I didn't expect him to pay me back; but he wouldn't hear of it. I knew that he wouldn't have—his pride would never have allowed him to—and so I was easily able to shift into phase two. I told him that there was another way that he could pay me back—that all he had to do was take me out to dinner sometime. Though he looked visibly uncomfortable and slightly annoyed by the idea, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement pass through his eyes, almost like he was trying to conceal his pleasure. The flicker was gone as quickly as it came, but it was there; I was sure of it. In the end, Chuck told me that he would call. I'm still bursting with excitement and anticipation as I write, and ever since last night, I've been watching my phone like a hawk. I'm a little bit obsessed, I admit.

Anyways, tomorrow I'll be officially starting my training as the new head of Waldorf Designs, and honestly, I'm so looking forward to it— especially as it will get me out of the house and away from Dorota. Though she has stopped glaring at me and giving me back sass ever since we arrived in Paris, I still feel like she is silently judging me and the thought of that is so annoying. Even just looking at her makes me feel ill, and I can't even mention Chuck's name around her because every time I do, she immediately avoids eye-contact and then makes some excuse to leave the room. I mean, how many times does she need to go and fetch my shoes and my coat and every possible thing that would prepare me on merry way before she realizes that I still don't have to leave for another four hours ? (This was early yesterday as I was preparing to meet Chuck at the casino). I just feel like such a villain when I'm around her...so terrible...so guilty...so ashamed...

No. I can't do this to myself. This is an exciting time for me and I won't kill the moment by thinking about Dan. These feelings are just temporary, is all. Besides, I'm sure that Dan probably hates me and that even dwelling on how I left things between us would be pointless...right? I mean, I pretty much burned down that bridge when I didn't meet him at the Shepherd's divorce party. I'm sorry about the way things ended between us but I need to put him in the past in order to focus on my future—my future with Chuck, to be more precise. I can't think about him—I won't. It will never happen again...


	3. Chapter 3

May 25, 2012

Dear Diary,

Remember yesterday when I vowed that I would never think about Dan again—that I had to move forward with my life and bury any residual feelings of guilt and shame that plague me every time I accidently let my mind dwell on the night of the Shepherd's divorce party or even so much as look at Dorota? Yeah, well, it turns out that's all a load of crap and God officially hates me. I mean, I figured that He wasn't my biggest fan after I broke our pact earlier this year but I thought that we've moved passed that. However, one thing's for certain: He sure has a sense of humour...

My day started out well enough. Mother and I arrived at the Waldorf Designs atelier at around eight o'clock in the morning, about a half hour later than everyone else. As we were pulling up to the building, Mother told me that the first thing that I needed to know about running the company was that it was imperative that I always arrived fashionably late—you know, as a sign of authority and respect. Of course, there was a glaring double-standard attached to this logic as anyone who wasn't a "Waldorf woman" would be punished for that kind of tardiness...but hey, that's life for you and no one said that it was fair.

The Paris atelier looked a lot like the one in New York, only twice the size and three times busier. Everyone seemed to have something to do, although there was a strange sense of composure and focus in the air that contrasted with the frantic, eager, fast-paced vibe of its New York counterpart. The people here seemed to glide through their tasks, almost as if they were working on auto-pilot. I wouldn't call them zombies or robots, per se—there was still some life in the room—but watching them sew and hem with such ease and rhythm made them look more like machines on an assembly line than a bunch of living, breathing Homo Sapiens. I told Mother that the place seemed to run like a well-oiled machine and she simply shrugged, telling me to just wait until it gets closer to Fashion Week. Needless to say, I was pretty intrigued by this remark...

Suddenly and without warning, Mother called all the employees to gather around for what turned out to be an impromptu introductory meeting; and in almost no time at all, twenty well-dressed workers were standing in front of us, all of them appearing alert, focused and bent on hanging on Mother's every word. There was even this one guy that had a pen and a notepad at the ready, clearly intending to jot down whatever command, reminder or anecdote that escaped my mother's lips. He didn't end up having to write much down as the meeting only lasted about a minute long and mainly consisted of Mother informing everyone of her imminent retirement (cue the obligatory "awwws") and that I—her daughter, Blair Waldorf—would be replacing her in her absence.

At the news of my approaching coronation as future head of Waldorf Designs, all the employees who had been staring at my mother abruptly shifted their attention to me. I saw the curiosity etched on their faces and knew exactly what they were all thinking: "this is our new boss?" and "should we all be afraid of her?"

I admit it felt good having all of this influence and control—it had been awhile since I felt powerful and important, and watching my future employees acknowledge my authority made me realize how much I missed being Queen B. Should they all be afraid of me? Maybe...maybe not. I still haven't decided what kind of leader I will be. I know that the old Blair Waldorf would have terrorized these poor people until they cowered at her feet but I'm not the same person that I was in high school— too much has happened since then for that to be true. In the end, I didn't have an answer to give and so I remained poker-faced the entire meeting, leaving everyone –myself, included— to guess at what the future will hold.

It was a fairly exhilarating morning. I followed Mother around as she inspected all of the garments—you know, to make sure that they met her specifications and approval—and got to attend a meeting with a potential financial backer. It was interesting seeing Mother completely in her element; I have always known her to be a confident and well-versed business woman but until today, I had never really gotten to witness her brilliance, first-hand. Sure, I caught glimpses of it growing up but this morning was totally different. When I looked at her, I saw a whole new person—not the high-strung, distracted, career-obsessed woman who neglected me growing up, but a woman who demanded respect when she entered a room and was not afraid to make hard and fast decisions. I wasn't ashamed to call her my mother nor did I resent admitting that we were similar. I saw her in a different light today, and it was a pretty eye-opening experience. Things were going smoothly; the garments looked beautiful, the financial backer said that he would stay in touch and I was gaining more and more respect for my mother by the hour. Everything was going great—until lunch time came around.

I don't exactly know how it happened; one second I was sitting alone at a table (Mother had gone out to make a phone call, leaving me to fend for myself), eating a gourmet sandwich and minding my own business, when all of the sudden, this twiggy girl (who looked to be a couple years younger than me) with long dark hair and bright green eyes comes waltzing in and—in a partly nervous but mostly excited American accent— asks if she could have lunch with me. I was shocked—not only because she, an employee of the company, was inquiring to sit with me, but also because I remembered her from both the group meeting and the garment inspection and was surprised to see her wear a facial expression that didn't resemble that of a skinny sumo wrestler (if there ever was such a thing). Plus, she's American? That kind of came as a bit of a surprise as I just assumed that everyone who worked here was French. I really didn't know what to make of her, at first...but then she took my silence as an open invitation to take a seat and I decided that I couldn't stand the bitch. I mean, what was her deal? She comes in and, with no formal introduction, asks if she could join me for lunch only to suddenly turn around and decide that she won't take "no" for an answer? I mean, who did she think she was? Rosa Parks? Substitute a bus for a lunch room and cut out the racial issue from the equation and you got the gist of what I seemed to be facing. Was she some sort of secret political activist working for the Occupy Wall Street movement? Was she going to start lecturing me on the unfairness of the inequality in today's economical climate and how I should be ashamed of myself for enjoying my lavish lifestyle while the rest of the 99 percent struggle to pay their mortgages? I rather have a root canal than be subjected to that kind of torture again...

I waited for her to explain herself, but she never did. She just sat there across the table—all inexplicably smiley and cheerful, and looking like she just stepped out of an annoying children's program. I was really irritated by her; at first, I didn't like the girl because I resented her insolence but now I couldn't even stand to look at her because she was grinning too much. I mean, did her eyes have to crinkle that way when she smiled and did she really have to flash me both sets of teeth? She looked like a circus clown on steroids. I knew that I had to be rid of her and so I ignored her innocent, happy-go-lucky, Bambi-cheerfully-skipping-through-the-forest act, looked her straight in the eye and, in my most authoritative voice, told her that I didn't give her permission to sit down.

I clearly was not in my right mind just then, as I was expecting her to react like a normal person—you know, to apologize for the intrusion and then leave the table under the pretense that nothing had happened—but instead she just ignored my accusatory comment and started going off on how she thought that it was so cool that I married a prince and that she absolutely loved my Vera Wang wedding dress. Though I didn't detect any malice or sarcasm in her voice as she had carelessly poured salt on that still recovering wound, I was so pissed off at her insistence of bringing it up that I refused to be civil. I reminded her through gritted teeth that Louis and I are divorced—that we have been divorced for months now—and that if she dares make one Kim Kardashian joke then I will make sure that her life at the company will be a living hell. For a second, she just stared at me as though I had just spoken gibberish to her before innocently asking what Kim Kardashian had to do with anything. I didn't know if she was messing with me or if she had been living under a rock this past year and genuinely had no idea that my union to Louis had surpassed Kim Kardashian's 72-day marital stint as the most embarrassing, failed celebrity marriage in recent history—but I didn't care. I wanted nothing more than to drop the subject and so I ignored her curiosity and told her to forget that I said anything. I could see that she had realized her mistake, just then, and so she tried to rectify the situation; she told me that she was sorry that she brought it up—that she never watched reality TV and that she didn't even know that I got a divorce as Eleanor hadn't mention anything about it. Slightly touched by her apology, I felt myself calm down a little...however, just as I was starting to catch my breath, the little bitch threw another curveball my way— only this one was a million times more lethal.

A little embarrassed but mostly disgruntled, I got up and told Bambi that I was going to leave now and that she should get back to work. Grinning again, she informed me that she still had another fifteen minutes left of her break but that it was nice talking to me. I should have given in to my baser instincts, just then—I should have just turned around and walked away without looking back—but it was too late. I saw it. I saw her bend down to grab her blue Prada handbag that she had so recklessly flung to the ground just moments ago. I saw her open the handbag with a strange, child-like enthusiasm that made her look like she was nine years old; but most haunting of all, I saw her eagerly extract it from the bag...

A book—but not just any book...no, I could have handled it if was just any book—Austen, Kinsella, Rowling, Dickens, Delillo, hell, even Meyer...any other book from any other author would have been perfectly acceptable and would not have reduced me to the shell-shocked, paralysed mess that I had now become. But no...no, of course it had to be this one. It had to be the one book in the entire universe that I was desperately and actively trying to forget. It had to be _Inside_.._._

And that's when I knew that God hated me.

This was a nightmare—the kind of nightmare where you're drowning and yet you can't do anything about it because your arms and legs have just fallen off—and the worst part about the entire ordeal was that I wasn't dreaming. Sure, my arms and limbs may have still been attached to my body and I may have been standing on dry land at the time, but that didn't change the fact that I _was_ drowning; every second that I spent staring at the distinct white font on that dark cover page plunged me further and further into a black sea of guilt and despair—and yet, I couldn't look away. Like I said, I was paralyzed and I had no idea of how to break the spell. That is, until the girl resumed speaking and my paralysis became muddled with annoyance.

For someone who didn't say one word the entire morning, she sure didn't know when to shut up, and I was beginning to wonder whether she had a secret doppelganger roaming around the building. Once she caught me staring at the book, there was no going back...and the excitement and eagerness on her face as she animatedly spoke of the novel was enough to make Barney the purple dinosaur want to pummel her to the ground. To be honest, I don't remember a lot of what she was saying at the time as everything was a blur; however, I did catch the words "Inside", "brother", "gift" and "Queens" and I think that she may have mentioned that she was enjoying the book so far. I was pretty much checked-out of the conversation at that point—but then she said his name and I was immediately pulled back in.

Dazed and confused, I asked her to repeat what she just said and, for once, she actually took my wishes to heart. In an upbeat voice that was tinted with curiosity, she told me that she just mentioned that Daniel Humphrey was the author's name. I'm not sure how I looked, just then, but judging from her concerned expression, I'd say pretty transparent of how I was feeling: nauseous, helpless and desperate to get away.

That's when she asked me if I knew this Daniel Humphrey; I lied to her, saying that I didn't.

It was completely strategic; I knew that if I told her the truth then she would have continued pestering me for details and the last thing that I wanted was to be hounded by some crazy weirdo with an obvious personality disorder. Plus, even just thinking about Dan was torturing; I want to kick myself for admitting it but it's true. In a way, the lie actually acted as a coping mechanism—a way to conquer the guilt and pain that afflicted and consumed me—and I realized that denying my history with Dan was a step in my road to recovery. However, just when I was feeling confident, I was struck down once again; I realize that my crushing deflations would make a pretty good drinking game.

Though she didn't pester me any further, I knew that she wasn't convinced that I was telling the truth. I knew this because after I denied sharing any history with Dan, she started going off on another tangent, saying nothing but glowing, positive things about him (however broad and presumptuous they may have been) and his writing abilities. It was clear what she was doing—she was trying to butter me up and make me feel better by complementing this person who, for whatever reason, seemed to be important in my life. Unfortunately, her efforts were in vain; I felt like she was reciting a eulogy at his funeral, and her kind words were making me feel guiltier than ever.

And then something happened—something that I can barely explain. She had just finished telling me that Dan did a really good job at fleshing out the characters of the story when, suddenly, her tangent took an unexpected turn. For a second she paused, clearly contemplating an idea in her head—and then she said it. She flippantly wondered why the main character of the novel, Dylan Hunter, had to be such a judgemental jerk; and before I knew it, I was inches from her face and practically shouting as I informed her that she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

To say that she looked startled at my defensiveness would be the understatement of the year. She had absolutely no clue where my anger was coming from and I could tell just by looking at her that she thought I was insane. Did I blame her? No, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Hell, I even wondered if I was little insane after realizing what I'd done.

I knew that I wasn't being fair—I mean, she was right; Dan had created Dylan Hunter with the intention of making him a judgemental jerk. That's who the character was—that's how Dan wanted the reader to perceive him. I knew that the girl had no idea how connected I was to this novel and I knew that she wasn't trying to make it personal or anything... but that didn't change the fact that it was. It was personal—Dan had based the character of Dylan Hunter on himself; Dylan's faults were Dan's faults, Dylan's virtues were Dan's virtues, Dylan's loves were Dan's loves (oh crap, I really shouldn't have gone there).

Realizing that I looked like a psychopath, I slowly and calmly backed away. However, my composure didn't hold for long and had spontaneously combusted following what happened next.

After noticing that I had calmed down, the girl kindly mentioned that she didn't think that Dylan Hunter was all that bad and that she actually really loved the way that he loved Claire. She said that she thought it was really sweet how even though Claire treated him like dirt at times, he still really cared about her and was always there for her even when she didn't even know it. She got Goosebumps during the scene when Sabrina and Claire were discussing Dylan's feelings. She said it was one of her favourite moments in the novel so far...

I don't exactly know when my eyes started tearing up, although my best guess would be when she first mentioned Claire's name. The whole thing was too much to handle and I felt like I was only moments away from becoming a sobbing wreck. But then I started thinking about how ridiculously convenient it all was— that this girl, this American girl, had brought up the exact same part in the novel that I had publically mocked a couple of months ago at the Upright Citizen's Brigade—and I became overwhelmed by suspicion and rage.

I admit, I may have gone a little overboard. I started shouting at her at the top of my lungs, while firing off questions at a mile a minute. I asked her if she saw me at the Upright Citizen's Brigade a couple of months ago and why she decided to bring up Claire and Dylan; I asked her if this was her plan all along—to make me feel guilty and horrible for breaking up with Dan— and whether or not my mother had put her up to this. The whole time I was interrogating her, I saw genuine terror and confusion in her eyes as she kept on assuring me in a distraught, horrified tone that she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

That's when I heard my mother's voice, asking what the meaning of this was. Needless to say, she didn't sound too pleased.

I saw Mother's eyes circle from me to the girl before resting on the book; comprehension flooded her face and for a second, I thought I saw a hint of sympathy in her expression. Her compassion was pretty short-lived, however, as suddenly, her eyes turned stony and harsh, and in a cool, commanding tone, she told me that I should take the rest of the day off. Basically, that was code for "get the hell out of here and don't come back until you've learned to be professional." Essentially, I was an embarrassment and a disappointment to her...I had gotten her message, loud and clear.

And so I left—I just calmly and demurely walked out of the room and never looked back. I may have turned a few heads as I vacated the premises but, overall, I thought I had put on a pretty convincing show. It wasn't until I locked myself in my room and crawled into bed that I allowed myself the luxury of cathartic release. I cried for a good ten minutes straight, not stopping until I had run out of tears.

I haven't left my room since I locked myself in. Once in awhile, Dorota stands outside my door and ask if she can bring me anything, but the last couple times that she's done that I just told her the same thing— that I'm fine and that I just want to be left alone. Of course, neither of those statements are true; I'm clearly not fine and I definitely don't want to be alone. And yet, here I am—the great Blair Waldorf: best friendless, boy friendless and—if she had it her way—motherless, as well. I'm a terrible, terrible person...and Chuck hasn't even called me yet. I mean, I know that he's busy and everything but I at least expected to hear back from him by now. I guess today just sucks all around...but hey, let's look on the bright side for once; at least I have the comfort in knowing that tomorrow can't possibly be any worse... right?


	4. Chapter 4

May 26, 2012

Dear Diary,

Do you think it's possible that I was unknowingly abducted by a bunch of extraterrestrials and that now I'm forced to live out my days in a messed-up parallel universe that only really exists in my subconscious? ...because, seriously, that is the only plausible theory that I could come up with right now that would even come close to explaining why the hell Dan and Georgina were spotted together in Rome today. And that's not even the worst of it—you should have seen those pictures that were posted on Gossip Girl! I know how Dan looks when he is around Georgina and that guy in the photos isn't him. He didn't appear annoyed or angry or desperate to get away; in fact, he seemed to be conspiring with her! There they were, strolling side-by-side down the cobblestone streets of Rome and looking like a couple of friendly tourists locked in a cordial debate of which architectural masterpiece they should visit next...it's just sickening. Plus, what was Dan wearing? A white t-shirt and jeans? Seriously? You're in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and that's your go-to outfit? I mean, have I taught him nothing? And doesn't Georgina have a kid to feed and a husband to boss around? Here's a tip: quit looking at Dan like you want to rip his clothes off and go back to your people, you little she-devil tramp! She probably brainwashed him into letting her tag along. I wouldn't be surprised if Georgina is actually a closet hypnotist and now has Dan under a sick, twisted spell...okay, I realize I'm getting a little ahead of myself and so, as always, I'll start from the beginning.

My day started out on an uncomfortable note as I was still nursing the hangover of what was yesterday's disastrous little incident with Jade. Yes, apparently the twiggy, doe-eyed girl with the double personality disorder is called Jade Allen and has been working as an intern at Waldorf Designs for the last two years. I really didn't care to know any of this but apparently Mother thought it necessary that I familiarize myself with the person who I'd been terrorizing on my lunch break. Clearly she wanted me to feel the full weight of my guilt; she was forcing me to get to know the cow that I had just slaughtered with my bare hands. Of course, that analogy is obviously a hyperbole. I mean, all I really did was yell at Jade. Sure, I may have only been two inches away from her face as I was doing it...but I didn't lay a hand on her and it's not like what I did rivaled any of the stunts I pulled in high school. Did I feel guilty about nearly reducing the girl to tears? Sure. However, I wasn't about to become an ashamed recluse anytime soon. I mean, yeah, I guess felt bad...but not bad enough to make me want to go through with Mother's wishes—not bad enough to make me want to publically apologize to Jade.

Last night, when Mother told me that I had to humiliate myself like that, I informed her that there was absolutely no way that I was going to do it. I just thought it was so degrading...so humbling—not to mention, completely unnecessary. Except, apparently it wasn't; at least, according to my mother, the gesture was the epitome of necessary. By the way she was talking, it seemed like the entire reputation and future of the company hinged on my willingness to stand before my future employees and admit that I'm a paranoid, crazy person who yells and interrogates people on their break. The last thing that I wanted to do was rehash what had happened in that lunchroom; however, I didn't have a choice. Mother said that a bunch of the workers heard me confronting Jade (who is apparently very well-liked at the company) and had spread the word that the new boss was a bully. I didn't really see how this was a bad thing; I mean, I didn't mind being pigeonholed as the kind of leader who sparks fear in the hearts of my employees, especially if it meant sparing me the trouble of having to face further public humiliation— but Mother didn't budge. She sternly told me that she wasn't going to leave her company to someone who her employees can't respect and that if I didn't agree to rectify the situation then she would be forced to find a less immature person to succeed her. I felt like she struck me in the face, just then, but ultimately, I decided to obey her wishes. I hated her for coaxing me into to doing it but I knew that my hands were tied.

Riding in the car to work this morning, I felt pretty confident. I had spent a good hour last night coming up with the perfect speech that I knew was going to make everyone at the company love me, and there was no doubt in my mind that, when all was said and done, my reputation would be fully restored and my little lunchroom meltdown would be long forgotten. If there is anything that I am great at it is public speaking. I am an amazing public speaker! I'm confident, I know how to command a room and I am always 100% prepared. I knew that I was ready—and yet, for some reason, the whole thing fell a little flat. Oh, who am I kidding?—it was a complete and total disaster! I bombed—I mean, I seriously crashed and burned. I never want to speak in public again (although, I realize that that will be pretty hard to avoid given my job description but still...).

They totally threw me off! I was doing just fine until it became clear that everyone wanted to torture me with their unreadable expressions. I didn't get it—they were so transparent yesterday! And now, I couldn't even understand them. I mean, there I was, publically admitting that I had made a mistake and that I wanted to take the opportunity to formerly apologize to Jade, when I realize that the room is completely still and that everyone is looking at me with this deadpan, awkward expression that made me feel like I was a patient at a psych ward. Only Jade seemed to show the slightest bit of emotion, although I couldn't really tell if she what she was feeling was appreciation or embarrassment. It was the Young Lions Club all over again, only without any mention of illiterate people using books as doorstops. I was dying by the second and so, hoping to change my tactics by sounding less rehearsed, I stupidly decided to ditch my speech in order to speak from my heart. Note to self: never do that again.

Whoever said that speaking from the heart was a good thing had obviously never been accused of being crazy. They were clearly not used to speaking in public, either; in fact, I doubt they have ever spoken to anyone, period. Here's the thing about speaking from the heart: you go completely brain dead as you're doing it. Words just tumble from your mouth like a hose spewing water and before you know it, you're going on and on about how sometimes people get carried away and that's it's not anyone's fault and that the only thing that we could do is try to move on and pretend that the whole thing never happened. But that's not all—no, that's not even the half of it. You keep going, keep digging that hole of yours until you're so far underground that you need binoculars to see the top. You start fumbling over your words and begin saying weird, random statements that you could have gotten off any old fortune cookie like "you have to forgive yourself before you can forgive others."

You have to forgive yourself before you can forgive others? I mean, why the hell did I even go there? That hardly made any sense and judging by the blank expressions and confused murmuring that was being passed around the audience, I was pretty sure that everyone agreed. I knew that I had lost them, then, and that I needed to get back on track so I picked up my shovel and started digging what I hoped would be an escape tunnel.

The number one rule of being a good leader is never letting your people see you sweat and so I tried to recover by defending my statement, hoping that I would fool them into thinking that I actually knew what I was talking about. I passionately explained to them that I had forgiven myself—for my actions, my behaviour, everything—and that because I feel like I'm now in a good mental state, I'm able to forgive Jade for her wrong-doings, bringing me to the whole point of this meeting—to clear the air and apologize for my behaviour the other day! I really should have drawn the line at "good mental state" because at that point, everyone was staring at me with this skeptical, bemused look if to say "can you believe what is coming out of this crazy woman's mouth?" Great, I had them going from poker-faced to confused to concerned for my sanity, all in a matter of five minutes flat. I could almost feel the hole that I had dug collapse around me. I was so fired...

Suddenly, I noticed Mother from the corner of my eye, frantically gesturing for me to wrap it up. I felt like I was having some surreal outer-body experience; although I do remember mumbling the last line of my speech which involved me basically promising that I will never lash out again. I would love to say that I finished strong but of course, that would be a lie. I never should have let them get me—I mean, why did I have to pander? Of course, they didn't have to be so harsh and soulless, either. I mean, what was their problem, anyways? I was only trying to apologize and prove that I wasn't insane; it really should not have been that difficult—and it wouldn't have been if they had just thrown me a bone. Honestly, am I going soft? Is it possible that I'm actually starting to care about how these lower-class workers perceive me? Well, if that's the case then they might as well enjoy the moment because it will never happen again.

After my public speaking disaster had ended, the first thing that Mother told me was that she could not be more embarrassed—not just for me, but for her, the company, and the entire Waldorf name. I wanted to tell her that she being a little excessive and that I wouldn't have even been in that situation if it wasn't for her nagging, but instead I just hung my head in shame as I waited for her to fire me.

But the words never came. There was no "you're fired, Blair— pack your things and go back to New York"; there wasn't even an "I can't even stand to look at you; just get out of my sight". Instead, she simply let out an exasperated sigh and informed me that we have a lot of work to do today, starting with going over the designs for the upcoming photo shoot. My first instinct was of utter shock which was quickly replaced by overwhelming relief. As far as I was concerned, Mother had granted me a second life in this company; I would have hugged her, just then, if I didn't think that doing so would have tempted her to change her mind. However, as the morning wore on, all of my former feelings of happiness and gratitude had gradually faded into a dull memory. I realized that Mother did not have me fired because she wanted to keep me around—she kept me around because she wanted to torture me!

All morning, I was haunted by my public apology. It was the elephant in the room—the topic of conversation that both everyone and no one wanted to talk about. I asked this one guy a question about the dress that he was working on and he looked almost flustered as he gave me his answer. I would have asked him what his problem was if I didn't already know. He wasn't the only one who was acting strange around me today—in fact, seventeen other workers reacted the same way (yes, I counted). Whether I was asking a question or simply passing them in the halls, I could not escape the flinching, the stuttering or the nervous eye shifting that seemed to be plaguing the otherwise robotic employees.

However, one person that I could count out of the mix was Jade who seemed to be pretty unaffected by the whole thing. As I passed her station on my way to pick up some prints, I saw her catch my eye and, even more amazing, she didn't even look away. In fact, I noticed her flash me a small smile as I was preparing to walk past and for a brief second, I was actually grateful for her strangeness. But then I realized that she was probably being nice out of pity and decided that I still couldn't stand her.

I didn't return her smile—in fact, I pretended that she was invisible. The last thing I wanted was her sympathy; I mean, I wouldn't even have been in this situation if it weren't for her! If she hadn't pushed me to my wits end yesterday, then I would have never have yelled at her and no one would have thought that I was a bully and Mother would not have told me to make a public apology and this whole morning would never have happened! Jade can save her smiles for someone who cares, I thought. Frankly, I didn't want or need them.

This morning was so emotionally draining that, by the time that lunch time came around, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I was tired of having to deal with everyone treating me like I was a ticking time bomb and I just needed a couple of minutes to regroup. I thought that Mother would have put up a fight when I asked her if I could sit by myself today, but instead she simply shrugged and told me to do what I want. It was clear that she desired to hang out with me just as much as I wanted to dance on the table and start singing at the top of my lungs. However, I would have easily gone for the cabaret if it had protected me from Jade who, about halfway into lunch, had decided to pay me a visit.

The girl had obvious boundary issues. There is no way that anyone with a working brain would have seen me sitting there, all stand-offish and alone, and think that it was a smart idea to come over. I mean, I was practically radiating hostility and introversion! It was written all over my face, my body language—I was sure of it! If she didn't get that I wanted to be by myself—if she didn't see the invisible though obvious sign on my forehead that spelled out the words "LEAVE ME ALONE" in huge, bold capital letters—then she was blind...or stupid...or both. Either way, I didn't have the patience to deal with her and so when I saw her heading in my direction, looking all friendly and determined, I instantly got up and prepared to leave.

But of course, I couldn't get away. Jade had cried "Blair, wait!" loud enough to pique the interests of a group of employees who were wandering the halls at the wrong—or right—time and who clearly didn't want to miss the action. I was corned. I really didn't want to talk to Jade but then again, I knew that giving these little snivelling sneaks something juicy to blab about would only hurt my chances for survival. And so, I smothered all of my feelings of annoyance and exasperation and politely asked Jade if there was anything that I could do for her. I must have been fairly convincing as I noticed a couple of employees start to walk away in blatant disappointment, just then. However, realizing that I still wasn't out of the woods yet, I continued my little charade.

When Jade told me that she wanted to track me down to tell me that she was really grateful for my apology, I smiled and informed her that it was my pleasure and that if I could do it all over again, I totally would. Yeah, I may have gone a little overboard... but I did count two bored-looking eavesdroppers leave in the wake of my bold-faced lie, so I must have done something right. Jade, for her part, didn't seem that convinced but still managed a grin at my phony remark. However, in the blink of an eye, her smile had faded into a serious frown as she earnestly began to apologize for any hurt that she had caused me.

She was sorry if she brought back some painful memories yesterday. She really should have stopped talking when she noticed my reaction to the book and to Daniel Humphrey's name but she was just so excited to talk to me about something that clearly held my attention that it took her awhile to process how upset I was by the subject. When she did catch on to my uneasiness, she wanted to make me feel better but she realizes now that her comforting attempts actually made everything worse. She was really sorry and hoped that I could find it in me to forgive her. She just wanted to come over to apologize...

I don't know what annoyed me more—the fact that her apology was a million times better than the one I gave or the fact that I found myself struggling to come up with plausible reasons to hate her. God, she was good. She was like a mockingbird that can't get shot; otherwise, it would be considered a crime against humanity—it was infuriating. Honestly, I was kind of pissed off at her at this point but I knew that I couldn't show it. If I wanted to stay out of trouble, then I had no choice but to play the role of the "bigger person"...at least until the hysteria surrounding me and my recent escapades has died down. And so what did I do? I thanked her, that's what! I looked her in the eye and smiled as I told her that I both appreciated and accepted her apology.

That should have been the end of it. We should have said our goodbyes and parted ways, right then, leaving everything to rot in the past. But no—no, instead, Jade just stood there, looking like she wanted to say something but that she was struggling to muster the words.

To be honest, I wasn't really curious to hear what she wanted to say, so I told her to take care of herself and turned around to leave. That was when she blurted it out—she wanted to know if she could ask me something. I turned back to look at her and I instinctively knew what she was dying to say.

Under any normal circumstance, I would have yelled at her. I would have angrily said that no, I was not going to talk about how things ended between me and Dan. I was not going to tell her what happened in part 2 of the Dylan and Claire saga—I was not about to recite to her my life's story just so I can satisfy her own sick curiosity. But of course, I couldn`t say any of that while I was still trapped in this zoo, so I forced myself to kindly asked her what is it that she wanted to know. She hesitated before speaking and I braced myself for the worst. But the worst was averted. It turns out she actually just wanted to find out if the character of Charlie Trout is based on a real person and if, so, did he actually die.

I thought about that for a second, realizing that I had no idea. I mean, I was pretty confident that Chuck wasn`t dead—I would have heard something if that were the case—but I honestly had no clue where he was or what he was doing. I tried to call him last night but neither he nor Jack answered their phones and I couldn`t understand why both of them seemed to be avoiding me. I wanted to check Gossip Girl for updates but the site was under maintenance yesterday and so I didn`t get the chance. It occurred to me that maybe I should check again...

After pondering all of this, I looked back at Jade and noticed that she was staring at me with these wide, sad eyes—the kind of expression that people normally wear when they've just found out that their next door neighbour or childhood acquaintance had just died. It took me a good second before I realized that she probably took my silence as confirmation for the worst and so I decided to do the upstanding thing (weird, I know) and set her straight. She seemed relieved when I told her that no, the guy is not dead. She nodded and said that that was good to know and thanked me for the information. I told her that it was my pleasure, when really I didn`t care. To be honest, I was just happy when she finally left.

Once Jade was gone, I eagerly took out my phone; I wanted to check out Gossip Girl to see if there was any news of Chuck. However, as it was loading, Mother interrupted me, saying that lunch was over and that she urgently needed my help with the dress fitting. I had no choice but to drop what I was doing and follow her. Gossip Girl and Chuck had to wait.

It wasn`t until I got home from work that I finally had the chance to check Gossip Girl and as I scrolled through the blasts, I couldn't help but feel curious at what I saw. Apparently, Chuck and Jack were spotted in Germany the other day and I could only guess at what set of circumstances brought them there. Oh well, I thought, at least Chuck was safe and not completely MIA. Of course, I would have been a lot happier about the whole thing if he called me like he said he would and told me what was going on but I guessed he still needed more time. I was about to shut off my phone when a new post caught my eye. That's when I saw the pictures of Dan and Georgina in Rome; I would have thrown up if I wasn`t too busy screaming.

Suddenly, Dorota came bursting into the room, looking both panicked and deeply concerned. She asked me why I was yelling to which I responded by shoving my phone in her face while pointing out the horrors of the incriminating photos. It didn`t make any sense! Why would Dan team up with Georgina? He hates Georgina! He knows that she's evil—or did he forget that she blackmailed him earlier this year?! Dorota suggested that maybe they weren't working together and that Georgina was just stalking him but I told her that that's unlikely when you look at the pictures. Dan was almost smiling in one of them, for goodness sakes! It didn't make any sense!

That's when Dorota asked me why I cared so much.

I could tell she was totally loving this.

Anger mounting, I assured her that I don't care—that Dan and I are broken up! And that I was merely pointing out the strangeness of the entire situation. I mean, if he wants to hang out with Georgina then fine. Whatever, it's his life. He could stay with her at Hotel de Russie or the Portrait suits, for all I care; even better, he could bring her to Ferragammo. Maybe I should let them borrow my spreadsheet that I was working on; I'm sure that it would be very helpful for their trip—their trip that I could care less about because, like I said, Dan and I are no longer together! Dorota shot me a sympathetic look, just then, prompting me to dismiss her from my sight. I couldn't bear to look at her sad, Polish eyes; I don't need her pity—I'm fine, really, I am.

I mean, do I feel sick looking at those photos? Yes—but it's not what she thinks. Dorota is catering under this delusion that the reason why I'm so upset about seeing Dan and Georgina together is because I'm afraid to think that he's moved on. Not romantically, necessarily (God, I sure hope not—that would be disgusting if he started liking Georgina again) but more so, getting over me—like he's so wrapped up in other things that he no longer cares. I mean, can you believe it? Of course, her assessment is clearly not true. I left him, remember? I broke his heart—of course, I want him to move on! Why wouldn't I? I mean, I know I have. I'm with Chuck...or I will be very soon.

No, I'm just in shock right now. By tomorrow, I will have forgotten this whole thing. And even if I don't, I will take comfort in the fact that I don't care. Because I _don't_ care—like I said, I'm no longer in Dan's life and he is no longer in mine. We are two ships sailing in opposite directions. I'm in Paris—he's in Rome with Georgina. Okay, so we may be in the same time zone but you get the point. The fact is that whatever he is going through is not my concern anymore. I'm not his girlfriend or his wife—hell, I'm sure he hates my guts. I relinquished my right to care the moment I told Chuck on that rooftop that I loved him.

I don't_ get_ to care anymore. And I don't. I really don't...


	5. Chapter 5

May 27, 2012

Dear Diary,

I swear both Mother and Dorota are out to get me. I mean, why else would they torture me like they did if that's not the case? I almost got fired today! And then I had to listen to Dorota lecture me on the horrors of being in denial! I mean, seriously? What have I done to deserve this? So, okay—I may have screwed up a couple more times than I should have. But that's nothing—it's just a temporary slump or a small bump in the road. I mean, I'm fine! And contrary to popular belief, I am not in denial! I'm over Dan—it's over between us, damn it! I just wish everyone would accept that and leave me alone...

I was given the day off. Apparently, Mother thought that I was too emotionally unstable to come into work this morning, so much so that I needed an extra day to compose myself. Mother didn't tell me this when she granted me my sabbatical but, honestly, she didn't even need to. It was pretty clear that she thought I was a total nutcase; when it came to hiding her feelings on the subject, she was no better than the employees at Waldorf Designs. I wanted to tell her that she was being unreasonable and that I was perfectly fine but, knowing that I had no shot of winning this argument, I just half-heartedly thanked her instead.

As the day wore on, I realized that maybe I hadn't given Mother enough credit. I was actually having a good time—in fact, I hadn't had this much fun in weeks. From this morning until late afternoon, I was in my own little Paris bubble and I was reminded all over again of why I love this city. I shopped at my favourite Parisian boutiques; I dined at my favourite cafés. I was in such a good mood that I even managed to visit my favourite Manet painting and only felt the slightest twinge of uneasiness at the memory of Louis. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the tiniest bit shocked at my reaction. I was expecting this moment to be a much harder pill to swallow. Since the divorce, I had thought about this place a couple times and had wondered how I would feel if I ever plucked up the courage to set foot in it again. There was a large part of me that was expecting to feel it—to be suffocated by the memories, both good and bad, and to be acutely aware of the fact that our fairytale romance and its tragic end had began here, that it started with a painting. And yet, I didn't feel it. Sure, I was reminded of the past and the terrible way that things ended between us but I realized that I had no hard feelings to bear. I don't hate Louis; in fact, I wish him well. And this painting is still a favourite of mine. For the first time in awhile, I felt at peace with the universe...and then I got home and found myself wishing that I had never left the gallery.

Mother wasted no time. She must have been watching the front door like a hawk because the second I entered the house, she ambushed me, telling me that we needed to talk while ushering me to her office. I could tell by her awkward demeanor that something was up and I had to fight the urge to run away as fast as my Jimmy Choo heels could carry me. Things got even stranger when she told me to take a seat; I felt like I was in a job interview or that I was about to be interrogated for shoplifting. The mood was so intense that I honestly didn't believe that I would ever smile or laugh again—here, my mother's office, was the place where happiness and comfort went to die.

It was horrible—I mean, I still feel sick just thinking about it. I asked her what she wanted to talk to me about and I swear she answered me in slow motion. Sitting at her desk like a woman on a mission, she looked me in the eye as she told me— in no uncertain terms, I may add—that she didn't think I was ready to take over her company and that, at least for the time being, she felt like it was in everyone's best interest if she found a replacement trainee.

For a moment, I just sat there, completely unable to speak. I could not believe what she was doing! I mean, why now? Why fire me now? Why not yesterday, after I embarrassed myself, her, the company and the entire Waldorf name? I would have understood it then... but now? A day later? Hell, I didn't even come into work this morning! It didn't make any sense!

Once I caught my breath, I pretty much lost it. In a wavering, panicky voice, I told her that I didn't understand and I was practically begging her to explain to me why she changed her mind. I could tell that she was a little uncomfortable by my grovelling but she wore her Ice Queen mask well; and she unflinchingly informed me that my present behaviour is the reason for why she didn't think I was I ready to replace her. She said that I've been out of control, lately. I've been too emotional and erratic...and above all, unfocused and not myself. I told her that I've been going through a really tough time at the moment—that Chuck has been avoiding me and ignoring my calls—but she didn't take the bait. In fact, she looked somewhat astonished at the mention of Chuck; "Chuck? What does Chuck have to do with anything?" she said. "All you've been crying about lately is Dan."

First, I lashed out at Jade over Dan's book and then just the other day Mother heard me screaming at the top of my lungs and shouting that I could not believe that Dan and Georgina were together; and that, right there, was the moment when she knew that I wasn't ready. She didn't fire me yesterday because she wanted to believe that I had gotten everything out of my system and that now that I've been humbled by humiliation, I would focus my attention on work and dedicate every waking hour to concocting the perfect game plan that would help me climb my way back to the top. But the moment she heard me screaming over Dan, she knew that my heart wasn't in it—that I still had issues that I needed to work out and that there was no way that I would be able to focus on my training when I was so obsessed with my personal life. Maybe she was reaching when she thought that I was ready to take on so much responsibility—I am only twenty one years old, after all. But she thought that after everything that I have been through this past year—the pregnancy, the car accident, the marriage and the divorce—that I was tough enough to handle anything. In her mind, I had already proven that I was ready but apparently, she was wrong. She told me that maybe in a couple of years we could try again but for now, it would be best if I took a break (translation: she is not convinced that I will ever be good enough, therefore she thought it best to fire me).

I could not believe what I was hearing. I mean, it was one thing to have to listen to her tell me that she didn't think that I was ready, but to learn that she wanted to fire me because she thinks that I'm obsessed with Dan? that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! I mean, yeah, okay...I did flip out over him a couple of times this week but it's only because he won't leave me alone! He's haunting me; that's the only way I can describe it. First, with Jade and_ Inside_ and then yesterday on Gossip Girl. I just can't get away from him; he's always there and I would give anything, anything in the world, to forget. I mean, it's not like I _want _to think about Dan—and it's not like I'm finding reasons to do so. I checked Gossip Girl yesterday to see if there was any news of Chuck, not him! I'm not obsessed...I'm just trapped. And I wouldn`t even be in this situation if he`d just left me alone!

Plus, why was Mother acting all clueless? I mean, she knows that I love Chuck! I told her of my decision just last week and though I'm aware that's she's an old woman , I'm pretty sure that her memory isn't that bad! I couldn't believe that Mother would fire me over something so ridiculous, so circumstantial, so beyond my control. But I knew that I wasn't going to be fired; not because it was my mother who was playing executioner but because, despite everything that has happened this past week, I'm still me. All I had to do was prove that to her and everything would be fine. This was one battle that I refused to lose and I was suddenly confident that I would come out on top.

There was only one thing to do in a situation like this and that was to plead my case like my life depended on it, and so I confidently assured Mother that I wanted nothing more than to be the new head of Waldorf Designs. I told her that I was ready to take over for her and, though I may have started out on the wrong foot, I knew that I was good enough and emotionally tough enough for the job. I looked her squarely in the eye as I promised her that I will never embarrass her again and that, if she were to give me one more chance, I promise to do her proud. I told her that yes, I may have been a little distracted lately, but I vow that from here on out, the company will be my top priority. I would prove to her that I'm a worthy of the title. "I really want to keep my job", I passionately concluded, "and I am willing to fight for it if I have to".

Apparently, it was Mother's turn to be speechless and I wanted to squeal in triumph at this response. The fact that she didn't shut me down half-way through my speech boasted a pretty good sign and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she contemplated my fate. For a moment, she just stared at me, clearly trying to determine whether I should be trusted or not; and the longer her silence stretched, the more optimistic and nervous I became.

After approximately two minutes of being tortured by uncertainty, Mother finally revealed her verdict: I had one week to convince her that I was ready; otherwise she would find someone else to replace her. I wanted to jump up and down in excitement but I restrained myself for the occasion. Instead, I shot Mother my most grateful smile and, after thanking her for granting me another chance to prove myself, I assured her that she will not regret this decision. Mother only seemed moderately touched by my gratitude but she nonetheless afforded me a quick nod before telling me that she was going out to run some errands. She picked up her bag that was lying next to her desk and I knew that that was my cue to leave the room.

I could not be more thrilled and relieved if I tried; however the celebratory party had ended as quickly as it began. I took one step outside of the office and was greeted by an annoying sight; Dorota was standing about five feet away from the door, gripping a laundry basket with both hands while looking like a child that had just been caught cheating on a test.

As soon as I caught her eye, she immediately looked away, suddenly absorbed in examining the contents of her basket. It was obvious that she was feeling guilty about something; I mean, I was pretty sure that my laundry wasn't _that_ interesting to look at. It didn't take a detective to know what was going on; Dorota was totally eavesdropping on my conversation with Mother and now she couldn't even look at me. And it wasn't until Mother asked her why she was just standing around doing nothing that Dorota allowed her eyes to emerge from the basket. Visibly flustered, Dorota told Mother that she was just leaving to do a load of laundry, before quickly walking away. Mother simply shrugged at this response and headed out the front door, leaving me to chase after Dorota. I had to know why she was spying on me—why she was eavesdropping on my conversation. However, looking back, I realize that maybe I should have let it go.

Dorota only made it to the kitchen before I yelled at her to stop, and she looked almost petrified when she saw me approach her. Shooting her my most hostile glare, I asked her why she was spying on me and for a moment, I thought she was going to make a run for it. But she didn't try to escape; in fact, she pled guilty to her actions. However, when it came to providing me an explanation of her motives, Dorota was clearly at a loss for words. She couldn't answer my question because she didn't have an answer to give; she just happened to overhear the conversation and couldn't control her impulses. I didn't think that there was any more to the story then that, and so, after threatening to have Dorota deported if I ever caught her spying on me again, I prepared to walk away. It was then that Dorota asked me if I had any idea why I was almost fired. And I stupidly took the bait.

I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, the obvious course of action would have been to cut the conversation short, tell Dorota to go back to work and then get the hell out of there. Now_ that_ would great plan—the best plan, in fact. There's no way of being caught in the middle of unwanted conversations when you step back and eliminate yourself from equation altogether... but for some reason, I just couldn't do that. There was a smugness in Dorota's eyes that I just couldn't ignore; she knew damn well why I almost got fired—and more importantly, she was aware that I knew the reason, too. She just wanted me to admit it—to say the words out loud so that it would finally become reality. She wanted me to admit that I've been acting out because of Dan.

I knew that I should have walked away but instead, I stupidly tired to deflect. Playing dumb, I told her that it was obvious why I almost got fired—I've embarrassed myself way too many times this week and I've been apparently too emotional and out of control. I thought that I was pretty convincing when I told her this but I could tell that she saw right through me. That's when she asked me the obvious follow-up question: why do you think that she (Mother) thought that I was acting out?

At that point, I just lost it; I told Dorota to just say what she's been dying to say—to just tell me that I'm still not over Dan and that I've been acting like a lunatic because I'm just so obsessed with him. Dorota grimaced at my sarcastic tone but she still pressed on, obviously not willing to let it go. With slight hesitation, she continued her little crusade and I wanted strangle her for what she said next: she asked me if is it possible that the reason why I've been acting out over Dan was because, deep down, I actually miss him.

I really should not have started shouting at my highest decibel, just then; that was a bad move, I admit. I mean, there I was, going crazy over Dan for the hundredth time this week, and Dorota was just standing in front of me, laundry basket still in hand, looking at me like I had just proven her point. But of course, no one ever stops to think about those things when they're caught up in the moment. And people don't consider how they come across while they are trying to defend themselves from the wrath of others. Sure, Dorota's wrath may have been a little more on the subtle side but it was definitely still there. She attacked me—I was already sailing on rocky waters and then she went and started blowing holes in my ship. She was trying to manipulate me with her wild insinuations and I _had_ to defend myself. That's all I was trying to do, really...defend...

It could have been worse—I could have told her to go die in a hole and started hurling insults at her, left and right. I mean, okay, I may have called her insane and ridiculous a couple times too many and I may have told her that _she_ was the one who was obsessed with Dan, not me—but again, I could have been a lot more brutal. I told her until I was blue in the face that I was over Dan—that's it's over between us!— and I informed her that of course I don't miss him and that, in fact, I couldn't even stand the thought of him! If anything, I despise him—he's been nothing but a nuisance to me! He's a painful headache that won't subside, a nagging noise that can't be drowned out! Everything bad that has happened to me these last couple of days has happened because of Dan! I go crazy even at the mention of his name—and it's not because I miss him! It's not because I still have feelings for him, damn it! "You want honesty?" I said. "Well here it is: I hate thinking about Dan because every time I do, I feel sick and disgusted with myself!"

This was the moment when Dorota was supposed to feel sorry for me. She was supposed to apologize for voicing her crazy, ridiculous assumptions and assure me that whatever I am going through right now is nothing but a temporary glitch in an otherwise flawless master plan. But no—apparently Dorota was out for blood and on the war path, clearly not willing to back down until she had my head on a silver platter.

Putting up a bold front, she told me that I _should _feel guilty—that it was only natural that I would after the way I left Dan. He gave me the opportunity to walk away and all he wanted was for me to honest with him...and what did I do? I ran to declare my love for Chuck without even giving him (Dan) a word of notice. Dan didn't deserve that, especially after everything that he has done for me. Even if I didn't love him as much as Chuck, that still didn't give me the right to disrespect him the way that I did. I made a mess out of everything and I _should_ feel terrible...but moreover, I should stop trying to fight my feelings because keeping them bottled up is clearly not helping me...

It was almost shocking how forward and aggressive she was at that moment (suddenly a far cry from the panicky, nervous wreck that was just a couple minutes ago). I had never seen Dorota so direct and argumentative before and, I admit, she was kind of freaking me out. I mean, I knew that she was upset at me after the night of the Shepherd's divorce party but she never confronted me about it until today. She took small jabs at me, sure; however, the worse that she really said on the subject was that I was a coward. She seemed annoyed with me when she called me that but I knew that this was different. It seemed like all of the pent up anger and disappointment that she had been harbouring this past week had suddenly exploded from her body, releasing a string of punishing words that tortured me with every passing syllable.

But do you want to know what pisses me off the most? It's the fact that she chose today, when I was clearly at my most vulnerable, to confront me on this issue. And the more my anger grew, the more determined I became. I told Dorota that she was wrong and that I have not been bottling up my feelings! In fact, the reason why I've been getting myself into trouble lately is because I've been struggling to keep my emotions in check! I've been _too_ emotional (or so I've been told)...and I haven't been fighting anything. All I want is to forget Dan so that I can move on with my life—I mean, really, is that so bad?

According to Dorota, it totally was. Apparently, I couldn't be more wrong to try to forget about Dan because forgetting him would entail me having the ability to wipe his existence from my memory and unless I developed an extreme case of amnesia it was unlikely that that was going to happen. The only way that I will be able to move on is if I was completely honest with myself. No warped logic, no acting in denial...just acknowledging the truth—even if it hurts to do so.

She was unbelievable! After everything that I had told her, she still didn't believe me when I said that I'm over Dan! I mean, could she be anymore deluded –could she be anymore stubborn? I was so annoyed with her and I damn well made sure that she knew it. I told her that though she may be right about my guilt, she couldn't be any more wrong about my feelings. I don't care about Dan anymore—and for the millionth time, he and I are over! I'm sorry if she couldn't handle that but it's true! I love Chuck—I've always loved Chuck! Dan is out of my life! He means absolutely nothing to me now and the quicker she accepts that, the better!

I could see that Dorota was becoming impatient with me and that the conversation was nearing its end. We both felt like we were beating a dead horse and it was pretty obvious that neither of us were going to change the other's mind. But Dorota wasn't out of it yet; there was something that she needed to say— one more thing that she wanted to tell me before she could rest her case.

She told me that it's okay to miss Dan—that missing him didn't make me anymore fickle or any less faithful to Chuck. She reminded me of something that, for the last couple of days, I had been desperately trying to forget: when we were together, Dan wasn't just my boyfriend but he was also my best friend. She told me that it's difficult to shut out the people that you've loved and that I shouldn't have to punish myself for caring; Dan was important and there was no sense in trying to fight that. She apologized for telling me that I should feel guilty but she only said that because she wanted me to come to terms with how I felt (how I still feel). She understood that it's been hard for me, lately, but I can't go on denying the past, acting like I'm indifferent when I'm clearly not and pretending that I don't feel something when I obviously do. All she ever wanted was for me to be happy and she was scared that if I don't find a way to make peace with what happened then I'll never be able to move on. She concluded that though I may sometimes try so hard to convince people otherwise, I'm not a bad person; and despite what I, myself, may think, I do deserve happiness. And then she left—she took her laundry basket and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me to ponder what I just heard.

I admit that I was a little disoriented after her speech but now that I've had time to reflect on our conversation, I realize that I just can't accept it. I mean, it was sweet hearing her say all those nice things about me but you have to admit, it is so easy for her to tell me to make peace with what happened in the past when she isn't the one being tortured.

Plus, what was wrong with waiting out this storm, anyways? What makes her think that I won't be able to move on? I mean, I'm fine! I have my health...and my shoe collection...and hey, I'm still working at Waldorf Designs! I mean, between work and Chuck I have plenty of things to occupy my thoughts, making me very confident that I am on my way to beating this thing. All I have to do is be more organized, more pragmatic. Okay, here is a list of my priorities for the week:

1) Regain my dignity and prove to Mother that I am the ONLY person good enough to take over her company.

2) Get in touch with Chuck but not let my enthusiasm interfere with priority #1.

3) If the urge to think about Dan somehow arises, immediately turn all thoughts to priority #1 and/or #2.

There—that should do it. I now have a plan and I fully intend to stick by it. Mother and Dorota can say what they want about me but the fact is that they are wrong and I am I going to prove it. I'm going to show them up and they are going to regret ever doubting me when I said that I'm over Dan—you know what, I'm adding that to the list.

4) Prove Mother and Dorota wrong.

There—I'm done. That sounds like a great plan—a full proof plan, in fact, and I have no doubt that I will be able to accomplish it. This is going to be a great week—the best week of my life! Nothing and no one is going to bring me down. I have a plan and I'm not afraid to use it...


End file.
